Always A Gryffindor
by TheScarlettSecret
Summary: Reaching for something that once was is one of the hardest things to do. Especially when you can't tell what it is you're reaching for. Hermione. Oneshot.


_**Once A Gryffindor, Always A Gryffindor  
**Scarlett Secret_

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. A thousand thanks to JKR for letting me use her characters and lifestyles.

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Hermione stretched her sock-covered feet out in front of her and leaned back into the chair, a relaxed smile finding its way across her face. The lights outside flickered and glimmered both above and below the horizon line, just the way she liked it. The city had a feel of excitement and thrill to it, always pushing, always leading, but not so much that it stressed her. As long as she wasn't running late, that is.

The feeling was familiar in a sense, like reaching out to touch something you know is there, but never actually getting close enough to grab it. Sometimes, late at night, she would wish whole-heartedly that she could somehow lengthen that arm and just grab at whatever it was once and for all. But things like that are even less likely to happen than having your actual arm grow two inches longer.

Tonight was going to be one of those nights. Hermione itched but couldn't scratch whatever it was. She got out of the chair and turned some music on, trying to get rid of the butterflies in her stomach and a sense of danger and excitement that was out of reach. Music flowed from the corners of the spacious three-roomed flat, and Hermione took a moment to spin around the room like she used to do. She closed her eyes and spun to the music in the dim of her flat, and she could almost feel the cold spring air of somewhere else brushing across her face, and she could almost feel the laughter in the air and the joy in her heart. Almost.

She leaped the single step into the tile of her kitchen, with all its high-tech goodies and silver plated appliances. Skipping to the beat of the music, she picked out some leftovers from her Chinese dinner the other night and shoved them into the microwave. As the appliance hummed with motors and electricity, she danced until she was dizzy and had to catch herself on the smooth metal of the fireplace mantle. The fireplace itself was rarely lit; it, too, gave her the feeling of reaching out for something that wasn't- couldn't- be there. Besides, the thing spooked her. One night in the winter she had curled up beside it in her flannels and a blanket, reading one of her favorite books, a well-loved paperback version of Little Women, and when she looked up into the fiery depths she could have sworn she saw a face in there, but it was gone as quick as it had come. She tried not to look at the fireplace for weeks after, and was only lit when the heating went out.

The microwave beeped lightly, merely suggesting that Hermione go and get the food before it burnt, as the microwave really liked to do. Grabbing chopsticks out of the drawer along the way, she twirled one last time as the music faded away and she made a grab for the lo mein. A guitar opened for the next song as Hermione strode into her room and leaned on the doorframe.

As she looked at her room, she smiled as she saw how evenly it reflected her. The white sheets were crisply folded and the room smelled of fabric softener. The walk-in closet was vacuumed and everything was on a hanger, with the desk backed against the wall and one large mirror covering a wall with a dresser underneath. She looked at the bed and smiled. She'd never thought she was much of a girly-girl, but something had compelled her to buy the four-poster bed, and she couldn't say why she had chosen to have red and gold curtains on it, either. It added a splash of color to the room, she supposed. And the color made her feel warm when she closed the drapes, locking herself into her own little world where she could read to her heart's delight.

Turning the room's lights on low, she walked over to the wall-length windows and sat in the bay seat. Cracking the window open, she could smell spring on the rise. But what she really liked was the breeze that came off the ocean. It always calmed her, no matter what was going on. With that, the feeling in her gut went away, and she turned to look at the people passing below, smiling at the groups of friends walking by. She smiled lightly before a frown covered it up and the feeling in her gut came back. She felt sick again, and set the food down on the dresser as she turned on all the lights in her bedroom and living room.

Something didn't feel right about that last group of kids, but she didn't know what. Pacing, back and forth, she couldn't figure it out. Letting out a grunt of frustration, she violently slumped into the nearest chair, a stool by the counter. Head in her hands tugging at her hair she asked herself why. Why couldn't she figure out what she was _supposed_ to figure out? What was it that she was trying to remember? Suddenly the music was too peppy for her, too slow, too boring. She lashed out, and from across the room, it turned off. She didn't notice.

She paced around the room fiercely, and lashed again when she saw smiling faces from a picture frame, her friends when she was eleven. The frame broke on the floor, glass shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. She didn't notice.

She tugged at her chemically straightened hair, mad that she had changed it. She let go and it dissolved into a frizzy mess. She didn't notice.

She held out her hand and let out a sound she didn't recognize, a sound full of frustration, grief, sadness, and desire. She snapped her head around when something fast moved from the corner of her eye, and all of a sudden the same something hit her hand. It was a stick made of vine wood and somewhere, in the very back of her mind, the very depths she'd been tugging at for as long as she could remember, she knew that inside there was dragon heartstring.

Her mind didn't even process that dragons weren't real. It was too busy processing a billion other things as memories from every corner of her mind came flooding back to her. Stone… castle… Hogwarts. Friends… three… black hair… Harry… red hair… Ron… Ginny… Everything came back as if someone had popped the top off of a shaken soda can, exploding in her mind at once. In that same moment, a POP! was heard even three flats down, and in front of the frizzy-haired girl were four oddly dressed people in black cloaks, all holding sticks similar to the one in her hand. Slowly she looked up from the wand in her hand, still receiving memories, and looked at the four of them.

"Ron," she said softly, the word tasting strange on her lips. The tall redhead nodded, a familiar smile tugging at the edge of his lips though the others seemed to find nothing amusing in the least about the situation.

She turned her head slowly, looking the next boy in the eyes. "Harry. Harry Potter." The boy nodded solemnly, determination in his deep green eyes. She knew those eyes.

"Ginny," she said, having turned to the next wizard before her. Ginny smiled faintly, and nodded, her straight, copper hair falling over her shoulders.

Turning to the last one, she paused a moment, regaining memory for the last person, then paused for another reason. "Draco," she said, with a bit of apprehension and question in her voice. The trademark smirk was gone, and he just looked at her with a small glare then turned away.

"Hermione." Harry spoke strongly but softly. "It's been a long time. We've been waiting."

Hermione stood there for a moment, taking this all in, realizing for the first time the magic she had done in her anger, seeing the wand in her hand and these people she once knew all grown up. They looked years older; they must have graduated two, three years ago? Harry was much taller, and Ron was still a bit lanky. Ginny was short and determined, her hair finally dulling a bit. Draco looked a bit distant, but she could see the connections he had with the others. She knew he and Harry would work well together. She suddenly knew with a sudden that she was back. She knew she belonged, and that the fireplace wouldn't spook her any longer, and the smell of the ocean wouldn't tease her any more.

Ginny stepped forward apprehensively, meeting Hermione in arms wide open.

"You ready?" the redhead whispered into Hermione's ear as the two embraced. Hermione could feel the other girl's cheeks tensing and knew she was smiling mischievously. She must have picked it up from the twins when Hermione wasn't looking.

"Ready for what?" Hermione whispered back.

"Everything you've missed."

Stepping back, a half-smile on her lips, wand in hand, she _accio_ed her robes and flung them on quickly, adrenaline rushing as she felt the magic pulsing through her veins.

"I'm ready," she said confidently, trust and the sense of nearing danger and excitement overcoming all her other emotions.

"You remember Sirius' place?" Ron asked tentatively as he took a step forward, his thick red hair glinting in the shadows from the window.

"Yes, of course." She wasn't about to forget, now that it had all come back to her. She knew she was never letting go again.

"You don't need a day to think things over?"

"No way," Hermione replied, meeting unbelieving eyes. "Bring on the mountain trolls," she said with her small laugh, and apparated to Grimmauld Place. Just as she was leaving she could hear a voice back at her flat. In a smooth, overly cool voice that had once haunted her, someone said,

"Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor."


End file.
